


Fraternity

by glorious_clio



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fandom Trumps Hate 2019, Gen, some people are a little late to the work of resistance, that's ok too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 03:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19264828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_clio/pseuds/glorious_clio
Summary: In the days before the Battle of Hogwarts, Percy Weasley, Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic, is desperate to find his family.





	Fraternity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pt_tucker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pt_tucker/gifts).



> Thank you to everyone who donated in the Fandom Trumps Hate charity auction! This is my first time participating, and my first time writing Percy Weasley. I hope this rings true for Percy fans!

“Firewhiskey, please,” Percy said, sidling up to the filthy bar, not for the first time.

“Thought I told you. You’re not welcome here.”

Percy Weasley gestured at the empty bar. “Are you sure you can afford to lose such a loyal customer?”

Aberforth grumbled, sloshed some of the bright amber liquid in the glass, slammed it in front of Percy, overcharged him. Percy passed over the silver cheerfully.

It was slow work, trying to get Aberforth to talk to him. But he hoped this looked enough like a pattern so that no outsider would be suspicious. Percy liked patterns.

Anyway, it was better than pacing his too-tidy flat in a corner of Camden Market, listening to the bells of Holy Trinity count the few hours he wasn’t at work. It reminded him of the passing time, and made him think of his mother’s clock. Mum was a genius, the clock was proof. He spent too much time dwelling on where his hand was. How like her not to care on the time of day, just that her family was safe. He’d give anything for just a quick glance, now.

He couldn’t trace his family, and that’s the worst of it. Even when he walked away from that awful fight with Dad, when he didn’t want to believe Dumbledore and Harry, Percy felt the Burrow would always be there. Or his siblings and his father could deign to find him in London. Mum found him, but Mum’s attempts didn’t count, somehow.

But Dad stopped showing up to work. Fred and George haven’t been seen in Diagon Alley in weeks. Shop locked and protected as best as they could, which is to say, pretty well. There hasn’t been a successful break in yet.

Percy finished his firewhiskey, turned the glass over on the bar and pushed it towards Aberforth.

“I do hope you will inform me of any developments, Aberforth.”

Aberforth shrugged. “Nothing to say.”

“So you’ve said. I shall return again tomorrow. And if you see...” he trailed off, even though the pub was empty. “It’s not a secret. Tell them I was here.”

Once outside, he apparated to Diagon Alley. He always left well before the curfew in Hogsmeade (curfews, he thought with disgust, and that’s not even the worst of what the Ministry of Magic was trying to do. He’d had a front row seat to the new Magic is Might policies). He turned away from the magical street, walking through the empty Leaky Cauldron.

“Good evening, Tom,” Percy hazarded a cordial greeting.

Tom glanced at him briefly, then turned away.

Percy accepted this rebuff; it was what he deserved. Penance. For collaborating with Death Eaters. Penance for betraying his family. He wasn’t thirsty.

Muggle London was still decorated for the Easter holiday; Percy walked through it each day to get to his tiny, expensive flat in a corner of Camden Markets. He missed the country in a way he never thought he would, the rolling hills around his parents’ house, a home full of brothers and a sister, friends dropping in and out.... Now he couldn’t even get a magical flat - no landlady who knew his name wanted to rent to him, for the same reason Tom and Aberforth didn’t want to talk to him.

It was no use wishing. Percy let himself into his flat, locking it with his wand behind him, and leaned against the door.

Where could they be?

He didn’t dare visit the Burrow. It had been watched for ages. Merlin knew he was likely being watched himself, now.

His last visit home had been disastrous. He should have reconciled with his family then, but Scrimgeour - rest his soul - had made the purpose of the visit painfully clear beforehand. The family had reacted... well. They did not like having their loyalties tested. And Percy, well. He could admit it to the silence of his tiny flat. His pride had been tarnished. Years of setting himself on a pedestal had gotten in the way of any good will between him and his siblings. And Harry had been there. He’d always been there. Percy hadn’t seen how to make things right.

It was something he’d bitterly regretted, now. Rumors of Ron at Malfoy Manor, and no visual confirmation of Dad or Bill even.

The bells of Holy Trinity told him the time.  

Percy glanced over at the moldy, foldout couch in his studio apartment, covered in parchment notated with his tidy script. Clues about Bill and Fleur, about Charlie, about the Twins, Ron, Ginny and their parents....  Nothing new to add today. The notes were orderly, systemised. The apartment was tidy as he could make it. It was his mind that raced.

He paced around, sorting through the meticulous notes, turning through the stacks of the Daily Prophet and reading snatches of stories here and there. All of it was bunk, of course, fed to the paper by his very office. Percy bit his lip, cleaned his glasses.

On his bookcase, he displayed a small collection of photos. His parents, his siblings. The day he’d gotten his prefect badge.  His uncles peered out at him from another frame. Their photo rarely moved; they usually stared out at the world, sadly, wistfully.

Percy had been five when they disappeared.

His memories from that time were fragmented, many of his mum weeping and furious, ready to go to war, and then Ginny was born.

Ginny, who had disappeared without a trace for countless hours her first year of Hogwarts. The failure of that, as an older brother, as a _prefect_ , had flooded him with guilt, which he confessed only once to Professor McGonagall. She’d told him to buck up and be strong. And then she shocked him, with the news that she’d recommended him for Head Boy.

“It’s not official yet, Weasley,” she’d said. “But you’ve shown leadership and humility. And I do recommend you try and relax over the summer holidays. Next year, regardless of status, let’s work on extending your protectiveness of your younger siblings to the rest of the students.”

Despite everything that came after, Percy never forgot who had actually saved Ginny.

Checking his watch now, the one he had been given for his seventeenth, Percy walked over to the radio and turned it on. He began turning the dial away from the Quidditch report, towards... something. He tapped his wand, muttering the password he’d heard on the last broadcast, _phoenix_. A fitting word for the Easter season, for renewal.

He let the voices of his brothers and Lee Jordan wash over him. Their jokes, their bits of coded news. He’d known them so long, it wasn’t difficult to figure out who they were talking about. He smiled that Romulus had a “little cub” and wouldn’t be a guest for the foreseeable future. Percy retroactively cheersed his firewhiskey to the baby.

Listening to the twins banter with “River” was calming, if felt like normal. The structure of his family was tricky. Fred and George were the only ones of his siblings who could get through his ruffled exterior, often cutting through it with their jokes. Even if he was the butt of them more often than not, it had made him feel included. Bill and Charlie were thick as thieves and were too often forced to play with Percy, and Ron and Ginny were babies. But Fred and George, the dynamic duo, could sometimes make him feel better.

Percy took off his glasses and began cleaning them unnecessarily, bringing back a small memory. He’d been terrified of the teasing he expected when he first brought home his glasses. Fred and George took one look at him and dragged him outside to play Quidditch with them.

“We want to see how good you are, now that you can see the quaffle,” Fred declared, not unkindly.

“Yeah, now you’ve got a fair shot at keeping up with us,” George added.

It was sweet, and he would have made a decent player, but he knew he would never be as good as Charlie.

“This concludes tonight’s installment of Potterwatch. The next password is Teddy,” River said. Percy drilled the word into his brain. He couldn’t tell if River was reluctant to bring the show to a close, or if he was projecting. “Keep each other safe: Keep faith. Good night.”

There was the static of the radio then. Percy rose to turn it off, and then began pacing, cleaning his glasses over and over again. No new clues. He hovered over his notes, though he had nothing to add to them. The silence was so loud.

Potterwatch was still better than walking by Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, hoping for a flash of red hair.

His faith in Hogwarts had been shaken by the ministry, his faith in the ministry was shaken by the Death Eaters. And now, Percy just wanted to go back to the halcyon days of his childhood, where his biggest problem was de-gnoming the garden and the twins’ practical jokes.

Percy decided to make a pot of tea.

 

***

 

The pride that came with being the Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic had diminished, to put it mildly. What once shone had now tarnished.

Percy put on a brave face as Pius Thicknesse swept by his desk. “My office, Weasley. Now.”  

Silently, Percy gathered parchment and quill and followed the Minister into his office.

“Shall I shut the door, sir?”

Thicknesse shrugged and collapsed into the seat, his feet up on the desk.  

Percy closed the door and sat at the edge of the seat in front of the desk, and prepared to notate.

“Any word of your family?” Thicknesse asked, a cruel smile playing over his face.

He knew what was required of him. “What family, sir?”

Thicknesse laughed. “Smart answer, boy. Now, I’ll need you to work with Macnair,” he said. The smile grew. He drew his feet off the desk and on the floor where they belonged.

Percy sniffed lightly. “Yes, sir?”

“We have the list for next year’s Hogwarts first years, thanks to our friend Snape. We’re allowing McGonagall to send the letters to the muggleborns, and we shall meet them at the sorting ceremony.”

Percy dutifully wrote this down.

“When that fool, McGonagall reads their name, we shall of course, arrest the magic thieves.”

“Er, arrest? Eleven year olds?”

“They’ve stolen their magic, according to the Ministry. Where do you work, Weasley?”

“The Ministry.”

“Yes, despite the fact that you have no family. We have graciously allowed you your job. Now, do you have our plans written down?"

Percy bent over the parchment and scribbled the word _evil_ over and over again. “Are the children to be... sent home?”

“Are you a fool too? Nah, the Dark Lord is sending them to Azkaban. We shall be determining where they’ve stolen their magic. Now, go speak to Macnair, you will help him with the logistics. I don’t care how you do it, just do it.”

Percy stood, knowing a dismissal when he heard one. “Very good, Minister. I shall send him a memo first thing.”

He couldn’t show weakness at work. Weaknesses were for home, for the night, for the relative safety of his flat.

Here, he was brisk confidence and efficiency. He dutifully sent the memo to Macnair, filed away his notes (and surreptitiously vanished them).

Today was a day of choices. He could hear Professor McGonagall in his mind, _“It’s not official yet, Weasley. But you’ve shown leadership and humility.... Next year, regardless of status, let’s work on extending your protectiveness of your younger siblings to the rest of the students.”_

Once a prefect, always a prefect. Once Head Boy, always Head Boy. He couldn’t protect Ginny, Ron, and the rest of his family, but he could protect others. And tonight, he resolved to speak to Aberforth, actually speak to him. He had to talk to Professor McGonagall.

 

***

 

“Do you, by chance, have anything... stronger than Firewhisky?” The long day had weighed on him. And a meeting with Macnair tomorrow - apparently this was considered high priority. This one drink at the Hog’s Head was his sole indulgence. More than what would be given to the muggleborn children in who knew what forsaken cage they ended up in at Azkaban.

It had to be Azkaban, didn’t it? Percy couldn’t imagine the kids put up at the Leaky Cauldron.

“Bad day, sonny?”

Was there a pronounced laugh in Aberforth’s voice? Percy didn’t know. Or rather, didn’t care. He wondered if there was any alcohol strong enough to quiet his thoughts, or his stomach. Or his own conscience.

But the humor? Percy was not in the mood. “Look. I know you don’t like me. That’s fine, I don’t need you to like me. But I need to get a message through.”

“I know, I know. To your family.” Aberforth waved him off, turned away.

“No. Yes. No, not today.” Percy sat up as straight as he possibly could, taking his glasses off and cleaning them again, though they didn’t need them. “I need to speak to Professor McGonagall.”

Aberforth outright laughed at him, this time. “You work for the Ministry! You can talk to her any old time, the Ministry is so far up Snape’s-”

“While this is true,” Percy interrupted coldly. “This is rather outside my... role as Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic.”

Aberforth turned back to look Percy in the eye. “I see. You’re done looking after your own skin, eh? Well you’re a fool, and you heard it hear first. No, I won’t send a message to Minerva or your family or anyone else. I like my life, you see. Right here behind this bar.”

Percy put his glasses on again. He'd be called worse than a fool before this was over. 

He stared down the last remaining Dumbledore, a birthright inherited from his mother. The pub was empty; the pub was always empty. It loosened his tongue now. He was here on a mission, and he was a _Gryffindor_ , for Merlin’s sake.

“It’s about next year’s first years. I won’t stand to have eleven year olds arrested. Now, you have a choice to make.”

Aberforth paled, but shrugged. “Kids? They’re going after kids now?”

“The official Ministry line is still that they’ve stolen matic,” Percy added. “I don’t even want to think of what their fate will be. But I’ll likely find out tomorrow. Hence why I need to speak to Professor McGonagall. I’m sure a man of your talents can contact her without Professor Snape knowing about it.”

“Alright, I’ll think on it, see if I can think of a way to contact her. Happy, Weasley?”

Percy shrugged. “Not particularly, no.”

“Yeah? Join the damned club.”

Aberforth poured them both a dram of firewhiskey, the best vintage he had. They cracked the glasses together and downed them in one go.

 

***

 

Percy was, of course, home well before the curfew in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. He scrambled some eggs for his dinner, then poked at his radio for a long time. But there was not an installment of Potterwatch this evening. He really could have benefited from hearing the voices of resistance against You-Know-Who, against the Ministry. Lee Jordan River reaching out to remind him that he wasn’t alone. The banter of the twins would have been a balm at the moment.

Alas, the radio gave him nothing but static. Percy tapped it with his wand, silencing it.

The hum of traffic outside his windows seemed loud, but faded to white noise. He’d grown used to muggle sounds, the city’s noises.

He thought about paging through his notes, but he knew they wouldn’t hold his attention. His only thoughts were for the stream of eleven year olds that would be making their way to Hogwarts on September 1st. Percy cleaned his glasses.

He stood and paced, hoping to generate ideas by sheer force of movement.

The trouble was, there was nowhere to go in this tiny studio flat. Most of the floor was given over to the fold out sofa. There was a small side table next to that, with the radio perched on top. The one bookcase was crammed full of tomes and photographs. There was no rug on the floor, which made for icy feet in the winter.

The other side of the flat was home to the galley kitchen; a tiny muggle refrigerator (which took Percy time to get used to, he thought how much his father would love it every time he opened it), a gas stove, an oven, a minuscule sink. To the left was the bathroom.

Percy found himself back at the bookcase, the spines of the books provided the only color in his flat.  And the photos, the faces of those he loved, those he walked away from.

And Fabian and Gideon. Mum had given them all copies of the same photographs. There were many, but these had been taken when they came of age, and were the ones she kept on her bureau.

“You were braver than me,” Percy admitted to Fabian and Gideon. The bells of Holy Trinity pealed out the time. 

His uncles looked so young in the photos, eyes sparking with promise, strong chins and squared shoulders. Within a few years they would both be dead.

He remembered them, always laughing with his parents in the Burrow. Sometimes they’d bring useless trinkets for him and his siblings. They were lights in the darkness (oh yes, Percy remembered the darkness of the first war, he didn’t want to believe You-Know-Who was back). The darkness had bled into every part of his life again, and his Uncles’ losses seemed especially futile now.  

A flash of silver caught Percy’s eye just then; he whirled around, his robes flapping, his wand coming up in his defense.

It was a patronus, a goat. He didn’t even get a chance to wonder further before the goat opened its mouth and said in Aberforth’s forceful voice. “Your family’s here, all of ‘em. I’d get here if I were you, looks like there’s going to be a fight to the death.”

And the goat disappeared in a wisp of silver.

Percy lowered his wand, and turned back to the photos of his uncles.

The were smiling. Gideon nodded.  

Percy nodded back.

He turned on his heel and disapperated into the Hog’s Head.

There wasn’t time to think, just now. Aberforth had his hands full, sorting a rush of kids in all colors of pajamas. The prefect in him made him stop and ask, “Need any help with them?”

“Nah, a couple of prefects came through, I can sort this lot. Go. Through the portrait upstairs, you’ll see right enough.”

Percy took the stairs as quickly as he could, the students shifted around him as he followed the line of them back to a portrait. He scrambled into it, somehow. His brain wasn’t processing this very clearly, and he followed it back to Hogwarts.


End file.
